


What Lies Within

by DixieDale



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:02:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: A vignette, featuring in turn Goniff, Chief, and Garrison.  Takes place early on.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Just Helping Out A Friend (Goniff)

Casino, still painfully hobbling around after that last mission, had just finished with a long, detailed, even lurid bemoaning of missing that upcoming date with Sarah from Bayside. Well, from what he'd been telling them, it WOULD be something to regret having to forego, and that was even without the massive disappointment Casino was proclaiming Sarah would be feeling at the notion of him not showing up. 

"And she doesn't even have a phone where I can tell her I'm not coming!" he exclaimed in disgust. "She's gonna be pissed as hell!" 

Well, that was taking it a little to extremes; after all, with their frequent comings and goings, no way could ANY date be set in stone, and Sarah (along with his myriad of other females) would surely know that and make allowances.

Still, Goniff offering to show up in his stead hadn't gone down well with the safecracker. In fact, it was damned insulting, the way he saw it! 

Hell, maybe if it had been Molly, or maybe Grace, or even Greta, Casino would have just gone ahead with the date, making heavy use of that cane the doc had loaned him, maybe even drumming up a little sympathy leading to a little something else, maybe letting her do most of the work. 

Sarah, though, she was a different story. Sarah was an energetic woman, expecting not just a quiet pint, maybe a slow dance or two, plus maybe a little more. No, Casino usually returned from a date with Sarah looking like he'd gone ten rounds with a wildcat, and from his description of his time with the female, that was a pretty decent description. Not that he didn't enjoy every minute, but still, he always figured HE was doing good to keep up with her and walk away afterwards. He sure as hell couldn't see Goniff being able to manage that feat! Hell, he couldn't see Goniff, rather diffident around women in general, getting past a shy hello and a fast pint and an even faster goodbye!

Still, there Goniff was, leaning back in his chair with a wide smirk on his face, proclaiming, "never you mind, Casino. I'll just pop over to Bayside, tell Sarah you're laid up. Expect I can take 'er mind off being disappointed. Might put a crimp in your future dates, though," he'd said with a sympathetic look. "Oh, well, easy come, easy go; you just mark 'er out of your little black book, I'll write 'er down in mine. Not a problem, all three of us 'appy."

That smirk took them off guard, along with that smug confident attitude, not one they were used to seeing in their pickpocket, especially where women were concerned.

So, okay, that wasn't exactly true, at least about the smirk. From Goniff, now that he'd relaxed enough with his teammates to feel a little comfortable, the smirk was being seen more and more, and that cocky attitude wasn't being hidden nearly as often as sometimes they'd prefer. Come to think on it, that smirk could get under your skin faster than you'd think, too.

Still, what they were seeing now was a whole new level of confidence, one that the smaller man unaccountably wore like it was totally natural to him. Yeah, that really got their attention. Chief and Actor settled back to be amused at whatever was coming next.

"What, you little Limey, you think you can fill my shoes?" came as a derisive snort from the man now laid up with a wrenched knee.

Garrison watched from the corner table where he was trying to make sense of that new report format coming down from HQ. Whatever was coming had to be more interesting than the job he was involved in. To his mind, military reports should not involve multiple-choice sections!

What they weren't expecting, any of them, was the snappy retort Goniff came back with, and if anything, that smirk got even bigger, that gleeful glint in those blue eyes positively wicked.

"Ain't interested in filling your big shoes, Casino; don't 'ave the rest of the clown outfit to make it work, fashionwise, ya know? Wouldn't want to offend Actor 'ere, 'im being such a stickler for things like that. And sides, with that Sarah female, ain't shoes I'm looking to fill, now is it? I expect the fit will be just fine. Don't figure I'll have any trouble there. Most likely get a nice Thank You note in the mail and all. 

"Like I said, most likely ending up with 'er in my little black book from then on, not yours, but that's just the way things go. Expect she'll appreciate a man with a little more what Actor calls 'finesse'.

"And didn't you say she 'as a sister, Kerry or some such? Might make it a threesome while I'm at it, seeings 'ow I'm gonna be making that long drive over to Bayside and all."

The silence was deafening, at least until Casino worked all that through and then bellowed his outrage. It had taken the other two pulling Casino back and Garrison doing a little yelling of his own to get things settled down.

On his way back from Bayside a couple of mornings later, Goniff grinned to himself. It had been a good night, well enough, but that wasn't even the best part of the whole matter. Looking back, he thought maybe the best part had been the purely offended look on Casino's face when Goniff had made that first 'offer'. Or maybe it had been that shocked, wondering look on Garrison's face. Or maybe it had been the incredulous look shared by just about everyone the previous night when he'd left in that borrowed jeep, when they'd all realized Goniff had been serious, was really going off to meet up with Sarah. 

Maybe it was knowing HE knew something Casino didn't; knew he'd be getting a right warm welcome from Sarah, possibly Sarah AND her sister Kerry!

It had been funny as hell watching Casino have that hissy fit back in the Common Room, especially since Goniff had the edge. 

Well, he'd known Sarah and her sister Kerry before, had listened and commiserated while the two bemoaned many a time that "all the blokes want is to do is waltz up with little more than a 'good day' to you, tip down a few and then try and break the bloody bedsprings! And not once will do for them, oh no, it's like it's a bloody competition how many times they can manage, you know? All the while expecting you to be oohing and aahing over how manly they are! Expecting you to be bouncing around like a marionette right along with! Well, that's fine sometimes; everyone likes a good romp now and again. But sometimes? Sometimes it'd be nice for a bloke to show up with a bit of candy, maybe treat you to a pot of tea and a sandwich and a comfortable cozy evening with a nice round or two between the sheets, while still leaving a little time left over for a few hours' sleep! We DO have jobs to go off to in the morning, you know!"

Well, he'd done just that. A fast stop for two small boxes of candy, one for each sister, followed by escorting the two to that little pub for a light meal and the sharing of a pint. Then the three of them back to Sarah's place for some fun on that nice soft bed of hers. They'd all managed a few hours sleep, with him back on his way to Brandonshire at dawn. Yes, a lovely night all around, as far as everyone was concerned.

"Now, just w'at do I say to Casino w'en I get back? Maybe not say much of anything at all, just smile and let 'im stew about it? Yes, that's most likely best, at least til that Thank You note the sisters promised to send comes in the mail. I'll just leave that out, nice and casual, w'ere 'e can see it and . . ."


	2. Sometimes It's The Little Things (Chief)

Things were changing now that Chief was with the team, one change coming right after the other. He'd expected that, of course; couldn't see how it would be otherwise, joining up with a military unit of fellow cons led by that smooth-talking, green-eyed Lieutenant Garrison in what had to be the craziest scheme he'd ever heard of. 

But these were changes in a totally different direction than he'd ever considered. 

Mostly he'd figured the changes would include him being dealt more of the same of what he'd experienced his whole life - distrust and abuse and disrespect - just from a new bunch of people, but now with the added thrill of risking his life on a daily basis with only a vague promise of a possible parole in return. Not that he expected that parole, but for the chance of seeing the open sky, breathing fresh air again, at least for awhile, for that he was willing to take the risks. But that was the extent of his expectations.

Well, how could he have expected GOOD changes? It wasn't like that had ever happened before, not for him, and it took him awhile to wake up and see the reality of where he was now - a place where good changes were not only possible but were actually happening.

Some was big stuff, sure. Garrison stepping in to protect Chief on that early mission. The whole team coming to rescue him after he'd been captured, risking their lives to get him free, not just taking off for the exit once they'd accomplished the mission. Yeah, there was big stuff involved.

But part of it, part of it was just a bunch of little things. 

It was Casino, calling him 'Indian' or 'Geronimo', but with that note of gruff acceptance Chief had rarely heard in anyone's voice before. It was Casino, who would fight with him, but never looked down on him, never let anyone else try to beat up on him.

It was Garrison, seeing how much having access to light and air meant to Chief, including allowing that open window where common sense would have made it be locked and shuttered against a possible spur-of-the-moment attempt at freedom. Or again, Garrison letting Chief have his blade, at first on a mission or for practice, later, anytime it wouldn't cause a huge stink. Even just that small book 'Chess for Beginners' that had appeared on the windowsill where he liked to sit and look out. He was pretty sure it had been Garrison who'd left it there for him, from that little half-smile and nod he'd gotten from the officer when Chief started to thumb through it, puzzling at the diagrams. He KNEW it had been Garrison who'd set up that chess board on the small table in the corner, left it there like it was an open invitation.

It was Actor, superior ass that he could be at times, at least not acting like Chief was inferior - well, any more than the Italian liked to act like everyone on the team, except maybe Garrison, was inferior. Hell, it even seemed like Actor didn't count things against him nearly as much as he did against Goniff, even Casino at times. Had even taken Chief aside, told him he had 'potential', that he should 'strive to improve; YOU have the ability, I believe, unlike others I might name'.

Most, though, it was Goniff. The pickpocket had been the first to step forward, even warning Chief before they even got to Brandonshire, about needing to watch out for Wheeler, that the man had what Goniff called 'notions'. It was Goniff who, right before pulling a trick or teasing Casino, would deliver that little look or wink or jerk of his head to cue Chief in on the action, as if to say 'watch!You're gonna like this; it'll be fun!'. It was Goniff, going from calling him 'Chief' one day, to the next turning it to a warmly casual 'Chiefy'. Though never on a mission, of course, but when they weren't, it made things seem oddly comfortable, like Goniff was actually fond of him and wasn't just putting it on.

It was Goniff who trusted Chief enough to share things the pickpocket would have been, hell, SHOULD have been too wary to confide in any of the others - personal, private things, things that would have given Chief ammunition to use against the man if he'd really wanted to. Chief wasn't used to being trusted, not with anything, certainly not with anything important, anything personal and potentially dangerous. While one part of him wanted to frown, tell Goniff he was being dumb doing stuff like that, setting himself up to be vulnerable, another part of him was humbled and drawn in by the trust he was being shown, wanting to prove himself worthy of that trust.

And gradually, that steel gray metallic shell that surrounded him, the bubble wrapped in razor wire, embedded with sharp points and cutting edges, it wore thin in spots, at least around the sharp places. Enough that those around him, at least some, could see inside a little better, could tell that weaponized shield wasn't all there was to the man they knew as Chief. 

Enough that Chief could relax his defenses, at least a little, enough to allow these few to get closer and share part of themselves with him, enough to hesitantly share part of himself in return. That was a little scary, both parts, but he found himself liking it in spite of that.

So it was this crisp fall day, sprawed on the grass near the front gate, waiting for Garrison to get back with the details of what was probably another impossible-but-has-to-be-done mission. 

It was the first time they'd done this, played this game, if you wanted to call it that. Actor was the one who came up with it, not surprisingly. The man had brains, no one could doubt that; HE sure didn't. In fact, Casino had taunted the conman not so long ago that "for all the brains you THINK you have, it's kinda surprising they aren't drippin' out of yer ears". Amazingly enough, Actor hadn't taken that as an insult, not the way Casino had intended it, but more as a well-deserved compliment. Chief and Goniff had a good chuckle about that later, the smug, pleased look on Actor's face, the sheer frustration on Casino's when he realized his strike had gone so far afield.

"So, w'at is it? Someone says a word, or a bunch of words, and the rest say w'at it makes them think of? That's supposed to be fun?" Goniff had asked, puzzled frown on his face.

"Exactly, Goniff. Sometimes it is fun, sometimes educational; it rather depends on those playing and what they see fit to enter in. However, it is a change from cards, will help the time pass more quickly, and besides, that deck is so well-marked it is hardly a challenge for any of us anymore."

Well, it was true the cards had their share and more of nail imprints, tiny creases, faint smudges, and probably more, but as far as Chief was concerned, that just added to the challenge, trying to remember all the various 'marks' and keep them straight in his head. Still, Actor was probably right, and by now wear and tear on the cards was starting to blur those original marks, and if anyone started adding new ones the cards might start falling apart.

Casino sighed, glancing down the road once again. "Wish he'd get his butt back here or call and let us know he's not gonna make it back tonight."

"W'at, Casino? 'E didn't get your permission to stay out overnight? 'E's a big boy; doubt 'e'll come to much 'arm up in London, not as long as 'e stays to the 'friendly' parts of town, and I already gave 'im that 'eads-up. Don't want to be 'aving to identify 'im on a slab, and told 'im that, right upfront," Goniff offered in an offhand manner, but casting his own worried look in the direction Garrison would be coming from.

Chief shielded a smile; he'd heard the car about twenty minutes ago, but could tell it had circled around the back way, coming in the far side gate. If the guys hadn't heard, hadn't recognized the sound of the engine as the same car Garrison had taken off in, it wasn't really his business to go spilling something the Lieutenant might have his reasons for doing, not yet anyway. 

Garrison would probably be embarrassed to know the guys worried about him, but it was the simple truth. And it wasn't just for the obvious 'what happens to us if something happens to him' issue. Though it probably wasn't supposed to have happened, they'd all come to respect, had even gotten fond of the officer appointed to lead them. The man might be hard as nails when he was riding them to do better, might be as stubborn as a man could get in some ways, took on way too much in their opinion, but he was there for them, treated them as men, not something less. That counted for something, counted for a lot.

"So," Chief said, getting things back on track, "how's it supposed to work? Someone starts, then we work around in order? Or once it gets started, we each just jump in when we want? How?"

Actor nodded, pleased that SOMEONE was cooperating anyway. "I'll start, then we'll proceed around in order of seating. If someone doesn't reply within one minute, the baton passes to the next man. Each man who leads will put down three words before it is the next one's turn to select the next three words. Last man on the circle is the first one to start the next round." 

He glared at Casino who'd opened his mouth to protest, "no, there is no actual baton, Casino. It is merely an expression!"

So it went, Actor dropping a word, the others responding or not as the mood struck. Surprisingly, it usually did strike, and the rounds were interesting, sometimes enlightening. 

Chief saw that tiny glance from Goniff, that 'let's play!' look, and without turning his head, let his senses roam to take stock of what had set the pickpocket off. It hadn't been Casino, he knew, though it usually would have been. Then just a twitch and a twinkle in those hazy blue eyes and Chief knew. It wouldn't do to smile or nod, but he trusted Goniff could read the agreement in his own eyes well enough. {"So, we play our own sub-set of the game, at least for a round or two, for as long as we can make it last. With the way we're sitting, it should work okay."}

It was Goniff's turn at laying down a series of words, and after a serious pause, offered "confusing". 

Casino replied with a snort, "not supposed to be describing yerself, ya damned fool Limey."

That got a stern look of reprimand from Actor, who offered his own thoughtful, "most interestingly enough, I am put to mind of the 'unstoppable force' paradox' sometimes known as the 'shield and spear paradox', though I doubt any of you have heard of either of those before." 

Their conman was obviously intending to rectify that omission, but a quick protest from the others brought him to a quick halt. While Actor looked a little disgruntled, he sat back and nodded for Chief to take his turn at the word.

"Confusing, huh?" Chief tried to look as if he was giving it serious consideration before nodding firmly and replying, "Garrison".

That got a snort of amusement from the whole lot, and Goniff's blue eyes developed a shimmer of satisfaction, so that Chief knew he was playing it right.

Next word was "energetic", with Casino offering "Stella Lambrusky! Man, talk about energetic . . ."

Actor quickly added "calisthentics" as his offering, before Casino could get started about Stella and her energetic ways.

Chief again took his time, chewed on his toothpick a time or two before responding, "energetic - yeah, Garrison".

That got him a derisive look from Casino, and a sharp look of suspicion from Actor. Goniff's lips were trembling just a little, his eyelids lowered just a trifle. {"Probably just as well; about ready to laugh himself silly if I know him,"} Chief thought with amusement.

Third word was "creative", Casino offering "Margie Duggan, man, I could tell you stories . . ." 

Actor chided him, "yes, but now is not the time, Casino. Let me see, creative. Such an evocative word, of course. But of course, 'Leonardo da Vinci'. If one considers only . . .

Chief rolled his eyes skyward as if seeking inspiration, then solemnly interrupted, uttering, "Garrison".

Quickly, before Casino could explode or Actor could react, spoil the game now that he was catching on, Goniff entered, "that makes it your turn, Chiefy. Go on now, give us a word!" That smile was blinding in intensity, that gamin face radiant in eager enthusiasm.

Chief was ready. "Honest", he put into the pot.

Goniff chimed in, "Garrison" before passing over to Casino, who groaned at the pattern he was finally seeing.

"Yeah, okay, so 'Garrison'" he admitted, with Actor nodding and adding "I must concede, since that was what came to my mind as well."

Chief took up the baton one more, but figured he'd probably better cut to the chase, what he'd intended to finish up with, not knowing how long they could string this out. He flashed a quick look at Goniff, figuring Goniff would read him right.

"Word's 'sneaky'" 

Goniff's triumphant answer rang out loud and clear. "That's easy, mate. 'Garrison!'", the pickpocket grinned broadly, leaning back and laughing as he looked over to where their Lieutenant was standing up against a tree, slightly out of direct line of vision for any of them, but well within earshot to have heard everything that had been said.

Casino and Actor followed his gaze, and repeated in unison 'Garrison!!', and started laughing right along, even Chief allowing himself a smile.

Garrison turned a shade of pink not usual for military officers, but laughed right along with everyone else at being played. 

"Alright you guys, you've had your fun. Back inside, we've got a job."

And they made their way back to the big house, jostling each other and laughing in amusement of the game they'd played, a game within a game. And Chief felt as if the warm sunshine had settled deep inside him, at being a part of the game, being trusted to uphold his part. 

It was a little thing, maybe, but he was coming to realize more and more just how important those little things could be.


	3. Chasing Bubbles (Garrison)

It was starting to bug him, that just on-the-tip-of-his-tongue description. And while this was the last place on earth Garrison would have thought to find the word he'd been searching his brain for the past few days, one did find treasure in odd places. Now, standing in the side yard of the orphanage, enjoying a smoke and watching the children laugh and chase the brilliantly-hued bubbles thrown up by Mrs. Wilson and Miss Standish as they energetically dealt with the laundry, he could only shake his head in amazement. 

{"Yes, that's it!"} as he let the scene steal away any sense of urgency, let his mind drift.

In the beginning he thought he knew exactly what he was getting with his guys. And perhaps with Actor and Casino that was pretty much true. And even with the other two, he'd looked at Goniff and Chief and thought he was seeing them, thought he knew who and what they were. Yes, maybe he'd hesitated, thought there was something else, but that had been a temporary illusion, or so he'd told himself.

Goniff was easy to read, after all; no real surprises there. During that first meeting in the warden's office at the prison, Garrison thought maybe he saw something else, something elusive, flitting under the surface, but he soon realized that had been an illusion. Yes, so that illusion was part of what had convinced him to bring the pickpocket onto the team when someone bigger, more sturdy-built, someone with a greater scope of talents might have fit in better, but once he'd realized he'd been mistaken, he'd just shrugged, put it down to experience-learned and determined to make it work regardless. 

And for awhile, he'd seen nothing to change his mind. The pickpocket had arrived at the Mansion as meek and mild a man as you could imagine, eyes downcast much of the time, keeping to himself, chattering away at times but saying little. Oh, Goniff was confident in his skills, left no one in doubt of that. But outside that professional arena, there really seemed nothing else of value there, certainly nothing more being offered up.

In fact, much of the time, Goniff seemed to walk around inside a shell, or, as Garrison had now realized, maybe a bubble, one made of cloudy overlapping scales. While that sounded like an unfortunate description of a fish too long out of water, that would have been unkind, and not exactly true. A kinder, perhaps more perceptive description, Garrison decided whimsically, might be that of a faceted Christmas ornament that had lain neglected and unnoticed in a stray corner of the attic, there for so long amongst the cobwebs and in the shadows that any shine, any glimmer, was long since overlaid with a dull film of tarnish, hiding what might lay beneath. 

Well, everyone was like that, in the beginning, Garrison admitted, at least to the extent of being equipped with their own bubble. "Yes, that's the word I've been searching for, alright - bubbles," he said to himself with some satisfaction, then flushed, hoping no one had noticed him talking to himself.

He turned to considering the others on his team.

Casino wore his bubble better than the others, that air of supreme masculine confidence serving him well in that regard. His bubble was, Garrison decided, formed of a mixture of light and dark colors, a vibrant collage, the colors and shapes ones you'd think would compete with each other and ruin the final effect. But somehow, all those various shapes and colors came together in a brash, lively way that was oddly appealing, in much the way a musical stage production about Chicago in its heyday of nightclubs and restaurants and speakeasies, along with, of course, the sound of gunfire in the streets, might have been. His bubble, while certainly colorful, was still translucent, letting you look in, view what and who he was, how he saw himself. 

Oh, there were areas perhaps concealed behind a few of those darker patches, but still, you didn't much notice those; there was so much else to see, so much to catch your eye. 

{"In fact, if I were planning a disguise, I couldn't do much better than to copy Casino. He is so obviously who and what he is, no one would ever suspect anything different being under the surface."}. 

That thought, coming out of nowhere, made him blink, leading to another thought, totally unbidden, {"I wonder if part of that presentation IS a disguise?"}. It was an odd thought, one he shook off as just a part of the odd mood he was in. Casino was Casino - no mystery there!

Actor had a different sort of bubble, an extravagant blend of rich colors most often associated with Renaissance art, though sometimes drifting toward the Baroque style with its greater energy and use of light, its sophisticated twisting, turning shapes. Actor's bubble was complicated, intricate and opaque. It wasn't as if anything was being shielded, though; it was as if the inside and outside were simply identical in every respect.

Well, that made sense. Garrison was pretty sure the man would have felt it beneath him to hide any of his 'light under a basket', {"or inside a bubble,"} Garrison thought with a laugh.

Actor's bubble was also one of supreme self-confidence, one combining the same blatantly masculine attributes shown by the safecracker, but with additional ones formed by an extensive and superior education, along with an exquisite social gloss. 

If you would have discussed that with the conman, he would have agreed with the appearance but scoffed at the idea it was a bubble; he would have declaimed any notion that what you were seeing was anything other than who and what he was. He may have been right - maybe, though Garrison was starting to have a doubt or two.

Chief, now his bubble was different, just as HE was different. His bubble was a tightly-wrapped seemingly-impervious barrier of dull steel gray, metallic and faintly reflective, not leaving a hint of what lay inside open to anyone outside. That bubble was a weapon, no less than the knife Chief wore on his forearm. All the observer would see was something hard and unyielding, dangerous, any shiny pinpoints not diamonds, but instead the glint of razor-wire or sharp blades. At least, until recently, when Garrison had noticed some changes, ones he approved of, would like to encourage.

Now, thinking about his men, those bubbles he could visualize so clearly, Garrison wondered suddenly whether he had a bubble of his own, and what it might look like to someone outside looking in. He even idly toyed with the idea of maybe asking someone, though since he couldn't think of anyone he'd feel comfortable asking such an odd question of, he shrugged off the odd notion.

He would have given a lot to know, though. He hadn't had a clear view of who or what 'Craig' really was, other than a obedient son and responsible older brother, a student, then a dedicated military officer, in a very long time. As for being anything else, he didn't have a clue, hadn't perhaps since early childhood, if even then. 

Now he couldn't remember who or what that early Craig might have been before that first formal dressing-down in his father's library. He would have been maybe six, no older, when his parents decided it was time he shaped up and starting meeting their high expectations, took him in for a long detailed summary of what that entailed. It was the first of such sternly disapproving lessons, lasting til he'd entered West Point and was no longer available for such.

Whatever budding image he'd had of himself at that early age had met up against the stone wall of his parents and their image of what he was (but shouldn't be), their view of what he should be, (but wasn't). The experience left neither side happy with the result. 

In the end, he'd failed at being the perfect son his parents had thought was their right and due, and Craig - well, the whole effect had been one of leaving him living within the skin of someone he wasn't sure he'd recognize in a crowd. 

Even when he was studying art with Professor Milford, (something he knew his parents would be appalled at and had carefully hidden from them), when he first realized he could use his drawings to figure out who and what someone really was, he'd always failed at self-portraits, none of his attempts looking anything like he FELT, even if they did look like what he saw in the silvery surface of a mirror. 

He remembered shuddering at the last attempt he'd made, thinking it looked more like a death mask than a portrayal of a living person. He'd never tried the experiment again, not after that; it was far too disturbing. (As for the drawings he made of his parents, well, he'd burned those immediately; they had been far too ghastly - accurate enough to be a photograph, yes, but showing far too much of what lay underneath to look upon with any degree of comfort.)

No, he wasn't sure what his own bubble LOOKED like, if one really existed, but he knew what it felt like - emptiness laying quietly in a vacuum with only itself for company. Emptiness, inside a bubble of damp chill, a chill he called 'duty' or 'responsibility' out of lack of a better term, something that only lessened when he was actively DOING something, something not only important but also intellectually or physically challenging. At those times he could feel warmth again, remember what it was like. The problem was, he sometimes wondered if that had become an addiction, that urge for action, not just for the results in aiding the war effort or some other worthy cause, but in the more selfish desire for that brief feeling of being warm. 

{"I'll have to watch that; I can't be drawing the men into the fight just because I need a little excitement,"} he sternly warned himself. He could see that happening, could see him getting someone hurt, killed if he got caught up in that desperate need that overcame him sometimes.

"Now there's a depressing thought," he muttered, one he set firmly aside as being overly-morbid. Still, he knew he'd have to be careful; these men were his responsibility, his to guide and command, but also his to look out for, care for. To care for, not harm. 

"Do no harm," he quietly whispered from a long-ago memory, then gave a bark of laughter. "That would get me slapped down quick enough back home. I remember putting that in a term paper, how father had yelled. I had to lie, tell him I'd thought that was part of the Hippocratic Oath, something we were studying in school. Made me sound like an idiot, but I could hardly tell him the truth, that it was part of what Belinda Ash had said about it being a Wiccan belief - 'an ye harm none, do as ye will'. He would have torn the roof down over my head at the very notion, any part of it! AND had Belinda run out of town on a rail!"

Turning back to watch the play, to hearing the laughter, seeing the indulgence shown by the two women in deliberately splashing about more than necessary in order to send out a new round of bubbles for the children to chase, he felt his mind return to the original subject - his men.

The thing about bubbles, Garrison thought with renewed amusement, as he watched the children playing at that most innocent of pleasures, chasing then poking their finger at a bubble that drifted within reach, was not just watching the changing iridescent colors and shapes, but the visceral pleasure you got from watching one change shapes, change colors, then pop! and disappear.

He'd experienced that, watched the other guys' experience with Goniff earlier, when some of those dull scales melted away, if only for just awhile. One minute there was the usual bubble, then it shifted, changed somehow, then pop! It was gone and what you saw then was a real eyeopener! 

Well, first with Goniff, then, most recently, with Chief. 

Of course, the bubbles reformed, but each time they did, they'd been changed, altered in some way. With Goniff, some of those tarnished scales had brightened, taken on a silvery, glittery hue, making you smile at the sight; other spots had cleared of the dull residue, becoming a swirl of feathery translucent and even transparent glass, letting you get just a glimpse of what lay underneath. Garrison hoped the process would continue, that he'd be around to see what Goniff really looked like without that deceiving bubble. The glimpses he'd caught recently had intrigued him far more than was reasonable, enough he found himself watching his pickpocket more closely, just to see what else he might see through the spaces that were opening up.

Chief's bubble, that was changing too. It had recently started to smooth out in spots, the sharp edges consisting of blades and razor wire being brushed away to give you a brief glimpse of the smooth richly-grained steel surface underneath. There was a subtle sheen to that gray metal now, enough to reveal a promise of unlimited potential with some helpful buffing and polishing. 

One would have to be leary of touching that surface without Chief's full consent, but perhaps, in time, the young man would allow Garrison, the others on the team to help with that burnishing process. Garrison could envision a gleaming metal ornament, a swirling richly-embossed grain displaying an intricate beauty - still hard, still well capable of hard action, but capable of much more. 

Actor seemed to be lending a hand there, at least on the intellectual side. Goniff seemed to be having the most effect, if that little display out in the courtyard was any indication - the look in Chief's eyes when he'd joined with Goniff in running that con on Garrison was nothing like the withdrawn young man who'd arrived at the Mansion. And somehow Garrison though Casino was doing his bit too, though just how wasn't so obvious. 

{"And maybe I can help too. He thinks in patterns, sees patterns better than anyone else on the team except for me, I think. Perhaps he'll decide to use that chess board I set up, eventually give me an opening that way? We'll see."}

Somehow, watching the children chasing the last of the bubbles, he knew those two - Goniff and Chief - were the most likely to show the greatest transformation, or at least, the greater revealing of what lay beneath. Actor would tolerate no tampering with his bubble, if he even admitted he had one, which was unlikely. Casino, he'd probably just snort in disgust if you even mentioned such a thing; Casino was a very in-the-moment kind of a guy.

{"Well, he's a lot like me, in some ways. He wouldn't like thinking about things like that. And maybe he's right; maybe we are what we look like we are. Maybe the rest is all an illusion. Maybe there is nothing else,"} suddenly wondering if he'd just been woolgathering, thinking nonsense while enjoying watching the children at play.

{"Maybe there IS nothing else, at least where I'm concerned,"} he repeated, feeling a shudder rush through his body. 

Somehow, thinking of that cold, damp, empty bubble he envisioned surrounding himself, that was a discouraging thought. No, he'd focus on Chief and Goniff, the rich promise of seeing what those illusive bubbles would eventually reveal. That was much more appealing a thought. {"Maybe I'll find even find I have something inside my own bubble, something better than just emptiness surrounded by duty. Maybe."}

In the meantime, he needed to finish that last cigarette, then hand over that envelope with what he could spare from his pay packet to Miss Standish for help with the orphanage. Then it was back to the Mansion, back to the team, back to his duty and his responsibilities. He'd been standing around like a fool for long enough, letting his mind lead him into fanciful areas a military officer had no right to be indulging in. 

They watched him get back in the car and head off, Mrs. Wilson and Miss Standish.

"Such a fine young man, that Lieutenant Garrison," Mrs. Wilson said with a fond smile.

"Truly. Dedicated, of course, and a fine military officer, or so I'm told by Sergeant Major Rawlins," Rebecka Standish offered.

Mrs Wilson nodded. "His men seem quite fond of him too, and he seems remarkably patient with them, which seems not the usual thing in either direction. Strong and confident, just what it would take with those boisterous lads."

Rebecka confided, "he's quite personable, of course, but more telling, he's generous to a fault. Why, I'm sure he doesn't get paid enough to make those regular contributions he gives me for the children, yet whenever he can, he shows up with an envelope for them. And talented, too! I've seen some of his drawings, along with his sketches for ideas for that addition to the community center - you'd think they'd come from a professional, Mrs. Wilson.

"I'll be sorry to see him leave after the war. He would be such an asset to the village; he has so much to offer and in so many ways. Truly a fine young man, in all sorts of ways! He could be whatever he wanted to be, of course; most likely wouldn't want to stay in a small place like this, unfortunately. And of course, he is an Amerian; probably most anxious to get back to his own home. Still, his parents must be quite proud of him, don't you think? "

"I would certainly think so; can't imagine otherwise," the old washerwoman replied staunchly. "Well, we'd best get these clothes on the line. Here, you four, you're tall enough to help. Come along now; time for chasing and popping bubbles is over. Time to get to work."


End file.
